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Nobody seemed to have such ideas. The ruling classes of the various nations watched the

breakdown of their economy like spectators in the neighborhood of a volcano, seeing fiery lava

pour out of the crater and dense clouds of ashes roll down the slopes, engulfing vineyards and

fields and cottages. So it had been when the younger Pliny had stood near Mt. Vesuvius some

nineteen hundred years back, and had written to the historian Tacitus about his experience:

"I looked behind me; gross darkness pressed upon our rear, and came rolling over the land

after us like a torrent. We had scarce sat down, when darkness overspread us, not like that of a

moonless or cloudy night, but of a room when it is shut up, and the lamp put out. You could

hear the shrieks of women, the crying of children, and the shouts of men; some were seeking

their children, others their parents, others their wives or husbands, and only distinguishing them

by their voices; one lamenting his own fate, another that of his family; some praying to die,

from the very fear of dying; many lifting their hands to the gods; but the great part imagining

that there were no gods left anywhere, and that the last and eternal night was come upon the

world."

V

By way of the automobile ferry from Long Island to New London, Connecticut, Lanny drove

his wife to his father's home, and they spent a week with the family. The town of Newcastle had

been hard hit by the depression: the arms plant was shut down entirely; the hardware and

elevator and other plants were running only three days a week. The workers were living on

their savings if they had any; they were mortgaging their homes, and losing their cars and

radio sets because they couldn't meet installment payments. There were a couple of thousand

families entirely destitute, and most of them were Budd workers, so it was a strain upon the

consciences and pocketbooks of all members of the ruling family. Esther was working harder

than even during the World War; she was chairman of the finance committee of the town's soup

kitchens and children's aid, and went about among the women's clubs and churches telling

harrowing stories and making the women weep, so that private charity might not break down

entirely.

That was a crucial issue, as her husband told her. If America was forced to adopt the British

system of the dole, it would be the end of individual initiative and private enterprise. Robbie

seemed to his son like the anchor-man of a tug-of-war team, his heels dug into the ground, his

teeth set, the veins standing out purple in his forehead with the effort he was making to keep

his country from moving the wrong way. Robbie had been down to Washington to see

President Hoover, his hero and the captain of his team. The Great Engineer was literally

besieged; all the forces of disorder and destruction—so he considered them and so did Robbie—

were trying to pry him from his stand that the budget must be balanced, the value of the dollar

maintained, and business allowed to "come back" in due and regular course.

The cities and the counties, nearing the end of their resources, were clamoring for Federal

aid; the returned soldiers had organized to demand a bonus for the services they had rendered

overseas while the business men at home were filling their pocketbooks. So the agitators

charged, frothing at the mouth, and they had forced their bill through Congress over the

President's veto. Poor Herbert went on making speeches about the American system of "rugged

individualism"; it was heartening to him to have a solid business man, one who had been an oil

man like himself, come in and tell him that he was saving civilization.

Esther, of course, had to believe her husband; she told all the club ladies and church ladies

that they were saving civilization, and they put in their dimes or their dollars, and gathered

together and knitted sweaters or cooked and served hot soup. But every slump in Wall Street

threw more men out of work in Newcastle, and the ladies were at their wit's end. When Irma

wrote a check for five thousand dollars for the children, tears of gratitude ran down the cheeks

of Lanny's stepmother. He had given her great sorrow in years past, but now his credit rating

was triple-A. Even his Pinkness had been made respectable by the crimson hues of Bess,

concerning whom the mother inquired with deepest anxiety.

The Newcastle Country Club was giving a costume dance for charity. You paid twenty-five

dollars for a ticket, and if you weren't there you were nobody. Irma and Lanny had to drive to

a near-by city, since everybody who knew how to sew in Newcastle was already at work on

costumes. But it was all right, for that city likewise had its smokeless factory chimneys. Several

women worked day and night, and as a result the visiting pair appeared as a very grand

Beatrice and Benedick in red-and-purple velvet with gold linings. A delightful occasion, and

when it was over, Irma and Lanny presented the costumes to the country club's dramatics